


Midsummer

by Liliania



Series: Open plains and scattered trees [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (kinda), Artist Steve Rogers, Awesome Sarah Rogers, Catholic Bucky Barnes, Catholic Steve Rogers, Everyone Is Gay, F/F, First Love, Great Depression, Hurt/Comfort, Labor Unions, M/M, Poverty, Pre-Serum, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Queer Culture, Queer Themes, Queer Youth, Religious Conflict, Roman Catholicism, Socialism, no straight people allowed except for Sarah
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-12-09 09:04:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20992256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liliania/pseuds/Liliania
Summary: “Get up, Bucky.” He tugged at Bucky’s sleeve and his friend got up, tears welling up in his eyes. “Get up, you big idiot, you won’t remember anything tomorrow.”“You’re right, Stevie, I won’t remember nothin’,” he says, his voice breaking, “just kiss me once more, I won’t tell.” And Steve goes on his tiptoes and kisses him awkwardly, then turns and see the Apollo, now smoking a cigarette with a man twice his age, but so handsome most would probably not care, and he laughs, but not in a vicious way; he laughs as if he wanted to say, “you’ll just see, dear”.In which Steve loves Bucky, but pretends not to, and also: the long road before Steve decides if life's absurd.





	Midsummer

Steve yawns. He puts his bony palm on his mouth and it’s awfully early, so his mom doesn’t even scold him for that. He hates mornings; mom says she won’t let him sleep in and grow into a lazy bum, but he’s six years old and could not care less. 

Mom combs Steve’s hair, but they won’t stop sticking in every direction. She sighs and pats him on the head, then turns around to face the mirror. Their room is so tiny she only needs to do two steps to get in front of it. Steve sits on their bed and wiggles his toes as he watches his mom brush her blond locks and then put it neatly in a braid. She even puts on blush and mascara, although he reckons she looks just fine without them. 

“Nervous?”

“No,” he answers without hesitation. Sarah chuckles but Steve doesn’t find that very funny. He doesn’t know why he should be nervous about going to the church, even if he’s never been in there before. The mass can’t be much more boring than in the one he used to attend near their old apartment and people there can’t look scarier than the ones who live in the neighborhood. They surely can’t be more frightening than that old man without a leg that lives on the first floor and shouts at kids at least twice a day from his window. “Can I have a cookie when we come back?”

“If you behave,” she says and winkles. “Come on now, sweetie.” 

He hops off the bed which creaks loudly in answer. His mom looks at it accusingly as if it was its fault the room was so bad. He didn’t mind it, though. His mom cursed blue streak when she saw that pint-sized apartment, with its rusty furniture and wallpaper that would be terrible even if it wasn’t yellowed, but he likes sleeping in one bed with her and their kitchen with a window in it, which the previous one lacked. And there are almost no Irish people, which his mom was upset about, but he doesn’t mind less screaming in Gaelic. 

Steve manages to behave himself when they walk to the church and then not wiggle too much when they sit in their pew, although he wouldn’t be able to repeat a single word the priest said. He stands up and kneels at the right moments and he wants to shake the hand of a boy that sits next to him, but instead, the kid pulls him into a hug. Boy’s mom laughs and extends one hand to him, the other one holding a baby tight to her chest, then shakes his mom’s hand too. 

“I saw you moved in just next door,” the boy’s mom says after the mass ends. “I’m Winnifred.” 

“Sarah.” Steve holds the hem of his mom’s skirt and hides behind her leg because it turns out he might be a little nervous after all. The boy observes him with interest. “How old’s your boy?” 

“Seven. James, honey, introduce yourself, would ya?” 

James hangs on the rod of the church’s fence, one hand holding it, the other extended in the air. He stumbles when he lets go of it. “Bucky,” he says pointedly and wrinkles his nose. 

They walk home, Steve still hidden on his mom’s other side, and Bucky jumps next to him. He asks him questions, more than anybody’s ever asked Steve: why he moved (Steve shrugs, cause he’s not really sure himself, and Winnifred smacks her son on the head when she sees Sarah tense), where his dad is (in heaven, Steve answers without hesitation; Bucky’s dad at home sleeping with his twin siblings), what he likes to do (draw - Bucky likes to read, which Steve can’t do at all; Bucky looks almost shocked and promises to teach him). 

“Where did you live before?” 

“Jus’ a few blocks away,” Steve answers. “And in Ireland, but I was a baby so I don’t remember.” 

“I’ve lived here all my life.” Bucky puts hands in his pockets. His mom is a few steps behind, so she can’t yell at him for doing that. “Trust me, it’s really nice. You’ll get used to.”

Their knees bump when Bucky dandles Becca, sitting in his lap. He’s wearing short trousers, not minding cool morning air, even though Steve has goosebumps on his arms under his sweater. 

“Can’t we come back inside?”

“Fresh air will be good for ya!” 

Becca sleeps, propped on Bucky’s shoulder, dribbling on his shirt. Steve sighs. He hears the window open above him and then mister Beck yells at them, “Those young punks nowaday, you should be helping your mas, nut hanging around like some hobos!”

“Sorry, sir!” Bucky shouts back and the old man shuts his window with a thump. Becka wiggles a bit in his arms. 

“I’m still a bit scared of him,” Steve says and Bucky chuckles in answer.

“He’s just old and poor,” he says, as this was an obvious answer, and Steve hunches slightly. Bucky catches it instantly. “What? Don’t, Stevie, everybody’s poor here. No shame in that. That’s what my mom says. It’s just bad he’s gone so rude because of that, but mom says people are often bitter when they’re poor, old and alone.” He quiets for a moment and adds with a lighter tone: “You wanna come inside now?”

“Yes, please!” Steve jumps to his feet, almost falling down immediately when he sees stars and his vision blurs. His mom says he should be careful with that, the last thing she wants is Steve with a broken arm healing for months. “I’ll catch a cold because of you.”

“No, you won’t.” Bucky pushes the shabby door of his apartment. “Why’d you think anything cold will get you sick? We’d get bored to death in my room.”

“There was no one outside,” Steve says, laying down next to Becca, who only woke up to get onto the bed and fell asleep again. “Everybody’s sleeping. Becca’s sleeping and twins are sleepin’ too, we could just sleep as well.”

“My mom and dad ain’t sleeping, so you’re wrong about that first one.” Bucky lays on the other side of Becca, facing Steve, head propped on the elbow. He smirks. “Don’t be grumpy.” 

“I like spending time inside and what’s wrong with that,” Steve huffs. 

“Then how will ya make any friends?” 

“I have you,” Steve says with disarming honesty that makes Bucky laugh. “What’s with ya again? You’re my best friend and what I would need others for?” 

“Whatever you say, Stevie.” Bucky lowers his tone when he sees Becca shuffle. He really hopes she sleeps for some more time; he’s been taking care of her for almost two months now every day while his parents work and his patience is running very short with Becca’s childish stubbornness, only Steve beating her in being an opinionated bastard. 

“My mom says it’s okay to have little friends if you love them a lot.”

“My mom says I’m going to never find a girl and give her a grandchild if I keep on sitting on my ass with you in that stuffy room of ours all day,” Bucky says, winking to Steve, who shrugs. 

“You’re nine!” Steve laughs sweetly and smacks Bucky on the head. “Besides, she has enough children already… Ouch, Bucky!” Steve yelps when Bucky hits him on the arm and then starts tickling him. “Stop that, that’s the truth! You’ll wake up Becca, I’m not taking care of her!”

Bucky hardly minds until Steve starts wheezing and has to stick his head out of the window to catch a breath. 

Sarah Rogers stands on her tiptoes to reach the top of the window. The whole kitchen smells of vinegar as she goes through her ritual of scrubbing the entirety of their apartment as thoroughly as she can in an attempt to fool herself she lives nicer than she does. Nonetheless, there are stains on the windows that won’t go even as she tries to wash them for the hundredth time, huffing with annoyance. 

Sarah wipes her forehead, a white bandana tied to keep her hair away from her face slips slightly. Her skirt flutters when she turns around to look at her boys (one through blood, the other through sheer love she can’t stop from feeling towards him, hundred times grateful for sticking with her poor Stevie), sitting huddled together on a bench by the kitchen table, arms pressed together. She smiles when Bucky blushes a bit when his stomach rumbles. 

“There will be a stew ready in a minute.” She looks into the pot, where the vegetables boil. “You’re gonna eat with us, Bucky?” 

She reaches for the plates without looking if he nods or not; as if she was going to let the poor boy go hungry. Winnifred has five people to feed and there’s no possible way they let her earn any good money, even after years she spent working in that hell of a factory. And Sarah doubts Winnie’s husband has money on him, even if he works there twelve hours a day. 

“You boys happy Becca’s at school now?” Bucky nods his head vigorously, mouth full of food. He chokes and coughs and then glares at Steve irritated, kicks him under the table, which Steve gives back immediately. “Somethin’ wrong?”

“All’s good.” Bucky slouches and looks into his bowl. Sarah raises brows and looks demanding at Steve, who sighs in reply. 

“Bucky wanted to know…”

“I didn’t want to know nothing!” Bucky puts his hand on Steve’s mouth but then gets scared when he starts pretending to choke and lets him wiggle his way out of Bucky’s embrace. 

“We’ve been walking around and…”

“Oh, it doesn’t sound good.” Sarah stays turned with their back to them so they don’t see her grinning. 

“And we saw… Ouch, Bucky, stop kicking me!” Steve springs from the wooden bench and smacks Bucky on the head. “We saw a pal wearing a dress and he wanted to ask if boys can do that… stop that, Buck!”

Sarah laughs loudly, then turns around to face the boys. “And why have you been roaming the streets so late in the night like a coupla vagabond, huh?” 

Steve’s eyes go wide at that. “How’d you know it was late?”

Sarah tilts her head to the side. “Steve, they don’t exactly walk dressed this way all day.” Steve drops his head. “But I could expect that you would be looking for trouble, could I?” 

Steve stands behind Bucky now, hands propped on the other boy’s shoulders, swaying on his feet. “What was I…?” Sarah reaches to the cupboard for the tea and puts the kettle on. “People should stop pitying one against each other, don’t ya think? What do they mind what somebody wears or who they… I mean, who they kiss. Right?” 

Bucky looks at her with wide eyes. “Queer or not, what do they care. They’re mostly just as poor and miserable as we are,” she says, gesturing wildly with a wooden spoon in her hand, “only maybe some more, what with the police and all. We should all unite against the rich bastards that keep us working the whole day with pay that barely lets me feed my babies. Maybe that’s something to think about instead of a pal wearing his sister’s old skirt. If you want, Bucky, I can give you my old ones, what the hell.” He nearly chokes on his food. 

“Hey!” Bucky shouts to the boys walking ahead of them and they turn around, start yelling back at him and Steve, then pat them on the back as they catch up (Bucky - a little stronger, and then more careful with Steve). “Come on, we’ll be late.”

Steve walks next to Bucky, on the side of the group, even though Bucky’s a year above him and there are boys that he’s in class with. He doesn’t like them very much, and vice versa; they adore Bucky, though, and are decent to Steve, so he won’t complain. Can’t blame them, too. Bucky’s nearly a saint for sticking with him, when he thinks about all the times he threw a fit over some petty thing, when he thinks they treat him more carefully just because he’s sick (not even small, there are other boys that are small, they just don’t start wheezing after walking too fast for a minute). It’s like he wants them to lie straight to his face, with a hope that maybe they don’t notice he is like that… that’s what Bucky does, but Buck’s a different story, and sometimes Steve worries they’ll no longer be friends one day, and then he will surely have to kill himself over all the pity he gets from people. 

Even the teacher treat him lightly. He never got whipped, they don’t even yell at him when he doesn’t hear they talk to him; just blame it on his bad hearing, even if his right ear’s perfectly fine. When he misses a month of school almost every winter and they act like nothing happens, push him through the year with embarrassing grades for the stuff he barely understands (he surely wouldn’t if it wasn’t for Bucky’s help). Steve should be grateful and he’s old enough to know that, but being rational was never his long suit, so he does whatever disruption he can to test their patience. So far, nothing made them angry enough to punish a boy who may not even make it to the new year’s eve, but sometimes they’re close. 

Once he managed to catch a mouse in a box, hide her from Sarah and take to class, where he got her out and scared the poor teacher so much she stayed on her desk for the rest of the lesson, even though one of the girls, the redhead with high stockings that sits quietly all the time and Steve can’t remember her name for his life, caught her without any fear, surprising everyone in the room. Turns out her name’s Diana and she is alright, so he sat next to her the next day. She likes toads, too. 

Anyway, Dean has classes with him, so they walk together through the hall. He’s so tall he has to almost bend to talk to Steve; he’s even taller than his brother, Thomas, who’s year older, which makes his height a touchy subject. Steve understands what Thomas feels, although he’s still not very short, so it’s not that bad. Gets more difficult when all your rage has to fit in 4’7 body. 

Dean is so tall he has to hunch over to speak to people his age, and probably unconsciously to make himself fit in, and that slouched posture just stayed with him, making his spine probably permanently round. Meanwhile, Steve walks straight as an arrow all the time. It makes him feel a tiny bit better, although not much. 

“At least miss Shaw won’t say anything ‘bout how late we are,” he says, slowing his pace a bit when he sees Steve is behind him. “You know, she won’t punish you, will she? So she can’t really do anything to me.”

“We’ll see bout that,” Steve says and digs his fingers into his palm, so he won’t punch Dean in the face. 

Steve ends up getting extra homework, he has to write “I won’t be late to class” a hundred times, and Dean has to, too. They would get away with that, had Steve not been a moron and smacked Diana on the head with a dictionary in the middle of the lesson. Steve finally found out what was too much for the teacher.

“Why’d you do that?” 

They walk home with Becca, the other boys staying behind to play after school. Bucky gets them out of that by saying they’ll have to watch over twins and Becca, who guesses they don’t want to stay and doesn’t say anything about how she’s nine already and can take care of herself. Steve can’t run and watching them bores him out of his mind, and Bucky… not that he hates sports, but he’d definitely rather stay inside and read a book and watch Steve draw. Not that he would admit it, not when Sarah and Steve already think he’d be into wearing skirts after that Conversation. 

“It was a friendly smack! It didn’t even hurt her,” Steve whines, arms crossed. 

“You can’t hit girls.”

“I didn’t  _ hit  _ her,” Steve corrects. “I could punch you with a dictionary and the teacher wouldn’t pay attention.”

“It’s different with girls.”

“But  _ why?” _

Bucky sighs loudly. “It just is, I don’t know. That’s why boys are not usually friends with girls, they’d have to be a gentleman all the time, right?”

“You read so many books and that’s what they teach you?” Becca sits on the stair in front of their building, listening to their conversation with interest. “Diana is smarter than the whole of that class altogether and I would give that up to be a gentleman, no thanks. And she hits me all the time, so she won’t mind. ” 

“So you finally found someone who’ll fight with you? Why’d you like people beating you so much?” Bucky swings on the railing, eyes firmly on Steve, who blushed slightly. He cuts him off before he has time to answer the question. “So you like that Diana?”

“Yes!” Steve exclaims. “You’ll like her, too, Buck; she’s so quiet, but then it turned out she’s such a great gal. She’s so smart and read a thousand books, you’d have so much to talk about with her. Sometimes she talks like she’s twenty, not thirteen.” 

“Oh,” Bucky says, nodding. “Sounds like a nice gal.”

Steve squints. Bucky turns his head under his gaze. “A nice gal, sure,” he says, slowly. “As in a great friend, not like I’m in love.”

“Well, there would be nothing wrong with that.”

“No, but can you not say stuff like that?”

“Why?”

“I just don’t like it, why do you care?” It is true, although Steve isn’t sure why he doesn’t like it so much or why he got mad. He listened to boys talking about girls all the time since they turned ten, surely it wouldn’t be bad if he started, too. 

He never heard Bucky talk about girls, at least not with big enthusiasm, so there’s that. Maybe that’s why he minds so much. Steve liked their friendship without any talking about the girls, smart or not. 

“Jesus, sorry.” Bucky got a bit red on the ears. He brushes his hair to cover the feeling of being uncomfortable, something very foreign in his friendship with Steve. “Won’t mention it anymore.”

Bucky kneels next to his bed, Becca and mom and twins on his side. They pray together since he was little, even though he could do that alone now. Maybe it’s better they keep it that way; Bucky’s not sure he’d remember to say a prayer every evening, or that he’d even want to if it wasn’t for his ma. 

“ Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of death.” Winnifred holds a rosary in her hand when she speaks the prayer in a hushed voice. Bucky feels almost embarrassed when he asks the Blessed Virgin for her intercession. “Amen.”

“Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name,” Bucky says in a hurry, mechanically. 

He’s been cross with God lately. He wants to ask Sarah-- How can she be so firm in saying… saying what she said to him, all about not caring whom others love, and still go to church, fall on her knees like she didn’t read what God wrote in the Bible. Bucky’s too old now to not notice he’s just wired a different way than his friends, not able to care a bit about any older girl with a slightly too short skirt. “Your kingdom come, your will be done.”

He tried to, of course, but it doesn’t feel right. He hears it’s bad, but can’t make himself think so. Bucky remembers his dad saying the things about artists; that they’re faggots and just queer overall and he imagines him and Steve in some clustered apartment, books and charcoal laying all-around, them holding each other because he’s too scared to think of anything  _ more  _ yet. Can’t help it, but hope that his father’s right for  _ once _ in his life. “On earth as in heaven. Give us today our daily bread.” 

Because it feels so natural, it matches what he feels so well, that when he first saw those people on the streets… When he heard Sarah talk about them! Even hearing he’ll go to hell for just thoughts, he was so happy, when he heard people talk about folks like  _ him.  _ Hearing they exist, it’s not just his weird thought, they are  _ real. _ “Forgive us our sins, as we forgive those who sin against us.” Surely, if God exists, he can’t be evil to forbid him grom loving. Bucky read the old testament and he knows God doesn’t like sinners, but maybe they’re wrong and he’s just not one. 

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” his mom says in a hushed tone. “You seem a bit pale.” 

“I’m well, ma.” Bucky shakes his head. He knows now, he can’t be wrong, but he’s scared anyway. If God exists and is actually cruel like that, he probably shouldn’t make him angry when he talks to Him. “Save us from the time of trial and deliver us from evil.” 

“For the kingdom, the power, and the glory are yours now and for ever,” his ma finishes, worry in her eyes. 

“Amen,” the kids say with a smile and then shuffle to their beds, each in a different corner of the room. Winnifred kisses his head, which makes him feel warm on the heart. She’s not done that since he was a child. 

“Have you ever thought about what it would be like if you had a dad?”

“What?” Steve stops abruptly, dragging his pencil across the sketch he almost finished. He looks down at it, displeased. He messed up his ma’s eye. The one he’d been working on for a few minutes now, in his first attempts to make it look realistic, photo-like, since Sarah had one picture only and it was from the times she was eighteen. Not that she changed much, if he’s honest, maybe even she’s more beautiful now. Or maybe it’s the camera’s fault, that it can’t capture the spark in her eye and the rose of her cheeks and seen only from up close freckles. 

Steve decided photographs were a terrible invention, doing nothing but making everything uglier than it already was. It’s not art, he says and gets an eye-roll from Bucky, as if Bucky’s just barely stopping himself from asking what Steve knows about art, suddenly. The truth is, Steve knows not a single thing, but that doesn’t stop him from saying what he thinks. There’s no place for ugliness in art. 

“If you grew up having dad, do you think you’d be different,” he explains in a nonchalant tone, swinging his legs in the air, guardrail of the fire escape between his legs. 

“Do you think it’s an appropriate thing to ask?” 

“Do you ever think if anything is?” He rolls his eyes. “I just wanted to know what he was like. Curious, that’s all.”

“What for.” Steve turns his head, suddenly interested in watching the street underneath them. They look like dolls from that height; a lady in a grey dress (long enough to be modest, too short to fool anyone she’s from a good and wealthy house), holding a crying baby and dandling it in her arms; a group of men laughing, all dirty and probably coming home from work; a handsome young man in smart clothes, walking with a giggling girl with pretty blond curls and earings that reflected the setting sun. He flips the page of his sketchbook and begins drawing the man in quick, long lines, making him look smooth and kind, a real gentleman with a dame on his arm. 

“You never talk about him.” Bucky shrugs and ducks his head between his shoulders. 

“You don’t talk about yours, too.” Steve couldn’t see the man’s face well, not when he’s sitting on the stairs next to Bucky’s window, his apartment on the sixth floor, which makes it a real marathon to get to for sickly Steve with asthma and backpack full of books on his back. 

“But you know him,” Bucky answers, suddenly realizing that - maybe Steve doesn’t, really, seeing how Bucky’s not sure even he knows his father well. Difficult to do, when he has to share what little time his dad has, besides work and sleeping, with his three siblings. 

“Eh, Bucky,” Steve says without noticing Bucky’s hesitation. He’s not angry, it’s just… boring and pointless. Talking about his dad wouldn’t hurt; after all, it’s not like he knows him in the first place to miss him; and he doesn’t care he’s without a dad, he’s not the only one in this neighborhood, after all. Hell, some kids would probably be happy to be rid of their old men. 

Steve just doesn’t see the point in repeating the legends. “Ask my ma.”

“I might.” Bucky falls silent after that, while Steve finishes the sketch. The man has Bucky’s face, just his sharp jaw exchanged for a much softer oval. 

“But do you think it may affect you in any way?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky says, trying to sound casual. 

“My ma’ll raise me a better man any guy could.”

“Well, you’re right,” Bucky says, quietly. “I just wonder if he was similar to you.”

Steve raises his head, but Bucky’s now staring at the street and he’s struck by how rays of the sun make his skin golden and glowing, contrasting with the line of worry on his forehead. He orders him in a hushed tone to keep still and makes a quick sketch. This time the lines are quick and sharp and Bucky looks like a marble sculpture when Steve puts him on paper and leaves his eyes blank. 

They sit in that alleyway too late in the night, heads buzzing from the alcohol and they probably should go home now, but the flicker of lights and noises around them make them forget about parents at home. Bucky’s dad would be so angry at him, had he known where Bucky and Steve are hanging. 

Bucky hiccups and then laughs, “I’m sorry,” and puts his arm around Steve’s waist, distracting him from the handsome blond man smiling at him from across the street. He blushes and turns his head. “It’s nice here. Where were we before?”

“Don’t remember,” Steve says absently. Bucky looks up at him, notices his blush and then follows his gaze to the boy on the other side of the road, who’s nonchalantly leaning on a street lamp and now winks at them. 

“You think he’s handsome?”

“What?”

“I asked…” Bucky begins in a too-loud, drunk voice, but Steve puts a hand over his mouth. 

“I heard ya, just why’d you even ask that?”

“Course, not that you’re queer or anything.” Bucky rolls his eyes. “That’d be tragic, right, pal?” Steve stammers and Bucky ignores him, maybe doesn’t even hear his answer with all the background noise, “But I’m just wondering, why are we sitting right next to ten goddamn queer bars and you enjoy it better than I ever seen you is a wonder, huh?”

“We were just passing by,” Steve mumbles. 

“Tell you what, Steve, I don’t fucking care.” Bucky suddenly sounds almost sober, even though he still smells like cheap beer. Steve’s hot in his jacket, he feels the tip of his ears getting red even. “And you could cut the crap, you punk, what you’re scared of? Your ma? Your God in heaven? Your God, Stevie, for all he’s done to all of us, he should die with all the Sodomites.” He almost whispers the words into Steve’s ear and feels him shudder under his arm.

“That’s blasphemy,” Steve says, but Bucky shuts him a quick kiss, awarded by a whistle from the other side of the road. Steve turns and then there’s this boy, a pretty face with blond curls, and he looks like Apollo, Steve notices, before turning to Bucky. “That’s all a goddamn game for you. What the fuck are you even talking about?” He’s never seen Bucky like that; never when he was drunk, even. He’s got no idea where this comes from.

“I’ve been thirteen,” Bucky says, sounding insane, wide and glassy eyes, “and I was praying, apologizing for my sins, but all I could think of was how stupid it was. You can’t be my destruction, Steve, you’re my salvation, my only way out of this misery.”

“Get up, Bucky.” He tugged at Bucky’s sleeve and his friend got up, tears welling up in his eyes. “Get up, you big idiot, you won’t remember anything tomorrow.”

“You’re right, Stevie, I won’t remember nothin’,” he says, his voice breaking, “just kiss me once more, I won’t tell.” And Steve goes on his tiptoes and kisses him awkwardly, then turns and see the Apollo, now smoking a cigarette with a man twice his age, but so handsome most would probably not care, and he laughs, but not in a vicious way; he laughs as if he wanted to say, “you’ll just see, dear”.

The next day Steve stands in front of Bucky’s door, waiting dumbly for somebody to open them, even though he knows well it’s only going to be Becca and the twins hiding behind her skirt, telling him Bucky’s gone out already. He thanks her anyway (says sorry for waking her up, when she yawns with her mouth wide open) and then sits on the stairs, head in his hands. 

He’s no idea what to do now. The first thing that comes to his mind - go straight to him, sit on the ground for hours until Bucky gets a break, and do… what would he even do?  _ God,  _ Steve wants to slam his head on the wall when he thinks he would  _ just kiss him again _ . He shouldn’t. He never wanted to before; even when he saw how beautiful Bucky was, never before he saw his blushed face and glossy eyes after he kissed him the night before, right in the middle of the street, like he didn’t care what anybody thinks. Maybe he didn’t care. 

“There’s so much anger in you,” Diane says, when he finally decides to go -- somewhere, and she’s the first person he can think of. She takes him to the pub where she works which is under her apartment and pours him whiskey. He flinches at the smell but manages to drink it. “Yet you decide to put it in all the wrong places. Be angry at something that makes sense for once, I’m so tired with you being angry at people who want to care about you all the time.” 

“How did you know?”

“Oh boy,” she says, but he begs her with his eyes, “I just did. And you did too because I remember… Steve, just let yourself be who you are, for once. Stop trying to prove people something all the time.”

“It’s easy for you when you weren’t called queer your whole life.”

“Oh, because being that would be just tragic,” she snarls, her red hair bounces with her moves, oblivious to the parallel with Bucky’s words fro the previous night. Steve freezes. “The thing is, I don’t care, and you shouldn’t either. You love the boy, that much is obvious… was obvious for me, from the first day you started talking to me.”

And it’s ironic because Bucky always was so jealous of her -- eager to make rude remarks whenever she wasn’t around and so happy when she quit school at sixteen, though he would never admit -- and then immediately relieved when Steve told him, in secret, she was queer. Suddenly he started stopping by and became almost friends with her, rambling about how pretty she was with her crimson red lipstick and in a suit, or twirling around in her burgundy dress. 

“You knew, right?” He looks up at her, she is taller even in her oxford flat shoes, and she nods with a worried face, as if she’s afraid he’s going to break right now. “God, I’m a fucking moron, why the hell did I think you were best pals suddenly. You told him he should do that.” Diane nods again, a right hand absently playing with her ring. “Why did you do that?”

“It was going to eat you both,” she whispers, leans closer to him. “He loves you so much, Steve.”

“But we were doing so great together.” Steve’s voice breaks slightly and his throat hurts, but he doesn’t want to start crying, only then Diane leaps out of her seat and hugs him so closely to her chest he feels like a six-year-old in his mother’s embrace. “For thirteen years, Diane, it all felt so good.”

“Come on, now, Stevie,” she coos into his ear. “It’ll be alright. You know I’ll be there for you… You both come here, you’ll see, it can be alright.” 

He hears what she wants to say; come see with your own eyes, we can live like that, it’s okay, you’ll both be fine. 

Steve gets sick the same evening, dreams of nights, loud streets, he talks with Diane in his fever dreams and then he dreams of Apollo, who’s now laughing viciously, pointing at him with an arrow. He sits on the fire escape and dangles his feet and Bucky’s dad wants to push him out of the window. 

Later he wakes up and it turns out it’s two days later, as Winnifred informs him. He’s surprised to see her here, she never did that, there was no need with Bucky willing to stay by his side whenever his ma couldn’t. He’s so weak he can’t move, can’t think too. 

“Bucky asked if you don’t mind he comes,” she says, brushing his sweaty hair from his forehead. Steve then realizes why Bucky’s not here and he feels even weaker than he did before, waves of nausea coming through him. “You boys fought about something? Bucky’s so sad lately, he won’t tell me what’s going on.”

“It’s nothing important,” Steve manages to say after Winnie gives him water. “He can come.” 

Bucky arrives in less than five minutes and Steve feels bad about him immediately. He looks like he hasn’t slept for days and he’s miserable, standing in the doorstep, arms crossed on his chest, shooting Steve cautious glances, as if Steve’s going to jump out of bed after days in a fever and jump at Bucky, punch him in the face and give him a black eye. 

“Come on, you idiot,” Steve says in a tired voice, “you know I have bad sight.” 

Bucky sits on the edge of the bed, eyes pointed at Steve. There’s something in them - like a challenge thrown at Steve, asking him  _ what’re you gonna do to me.  _ “You’re not mad.” Steve shakes his head slowly. “Not happy either.”

“I didn’t have much time to think, you see.”

“What the hell you wanna think about?” Bucky sounds mad but then composes himself. He doesn’t apologize, though. “You either want that, or you don’t.”

“It’s that easy for you?”

“You’re messing with my head,” he says in a hushed tone and puts his gaze down, embarrassed at his boldness. 

“You’re messing with mine.” Steve takes a breath and looks through a window. It’s late in the evening; Bucky must’ve just come back from work. “You kiss me and it’s so obvious to you, that you want it, that there’s nothing wrong with wanting that. But you kiss me and you shake my whole world upside down and I know you don’t care about that, but you could just as well tell me to spit God in the face. You said yourself, you had  _ years. _ ”

“I can’t look at you right now,” Bucky says, fumbling with the woolen blanket. “But I’m not mad and I won’t be mad, just so you know.” 

“It’s not about you,” Steve snarls and Bucky blushes bright red.

“That’s what I mean. You can tell me you don’t want me, I’ll understand, but just so you know, Stevie. It’s not that I don’t believe… I don’t know what I believe, after all that time. After thinking all that time. Maybe there is God and he does have all the rules that this church told us about, but I think you’re worth burning in hell.” He takes a deep sigh and adds, much quieter, barely audible, “I don’t even think we would. I can’t believe that I would… that we would be punished for a love like that. After all that, Steve, I know you love me. I had my doubts, of course, but now I know you’re just scared. You would’ve pushed me away. Maybe someone else wouldn't want to hurt me, but you… you’d do that for my own good, if it wasn’t for you, too.” 

They sit in the silence for a bit and when Steve starts to drift back into sleep again Bucky gets up to leave. Steve’s not sure if he dreamt it or not, but as he was leaving, he turned once again and the room got white and shiny all around him. “You need to take a risk, Stevie,” he said in Steve’s drowsy voice. “People were risking all the time, dying martyrs for their religion, for their country, for their values, all the things I would never put above my life… But I know you would, and I can’t understand why you wouldn’t do that for love.”

They spend so many nights wandering the streets, getting drunk in the bars with the weirdest clientele (and Bucky persuades Steve every time, there’s just  _ nothing  _ wrong with it and surely they won’t get in trouble; Bucky got a belief of being invincible, with his newly discovered identity and unwavering confidence that somehow, against common sense, came with it), that on Steve’s eighteenth birthday they stay at home, drink beer and bake apple pie with Sarah. The streets will be crowded anyway, they decide, it’s better to see the fireworks from their apartment. 

“No way I would celebrate anything that has to do with that God forsaken country,” Bucky says and ignores Steve rolling his eyes. Sarah laughs at him, though; her laugh is cute and girly. It makes her look as if she was their friend from school and when she kisses Diane on the cheek as she comes in and compliments her on the red lipstick and the bow on her neck Bucky just wants to hold her and shower with kisses for being herself so unapologetically. 

Bucky calls for his ma when the pie’s ready and they stand around Steve. “Make a wish,” Sarah says, voice cracking but her smile wide. Steve leans a bit, his too-long hair falling down over his face and painting shadows on his face, the light of candles making his sickly porcelain skin look ethereal. His eyes are almost completely dark and hazy from the alcohol; Bucky swallows and wonders if they can hear his heartbeat. Steve takes a breath and blows the candles, his eyes focused on Bucky standing on the other side of the table. “What did you wish?”

“Can’t tell ya or it won’t happen.” Sarah laughs and so does he, although he’s not so sure in it. When Bucky corners him later on, when it’s only the two of them and Sarah went to sleep, he avoids the eye contact. “Buck…” he starts, but Bucky doesn’t want to hear this. 

“I’ve got a present for ya,” he cuts in and gives him a flat, square box. “Sorry, didn’t have any nice paper.”

“Where’d you get this?” he says in an excited voice, his eyes going wide. Bucky’s holding a set of watercolors in his extended hands, two brushes atop of it. “How did ya get money?”

“Shh, don’t tell mom,” he says grinning. 

“I can’t take it from you!” Steve exclaims, a bit too loud, so Bucky shuts his mouth with a hand. 

“You’ll wake your poor ma,” he says, shaking his head. “And don’t bullshit me, I know you want that. Besides, what am I gonna do with that now? Give the nicest stuff to the twins, maybe?” He laughs and forces the box into Steve’s hands, who puts it carefully on the table. “Nah, good things like that, I got it for my best pal.”

Steve looks down at his feet, white socks on a dirty floor and he feels his cheeks and the tops of his ears getting hot. He wants to apologize to Bucky for not being able to even look at him, for being scared of him and of himself, for that matter. He looks up a bit and his head starts spinning when his eyes land on Bucky’s throat.

Carefully, Steve puts his hand on Bucky’s elbow and the second one on his arm and he makes Bucky hunch over. He closes his eyes and kisses him on the cheek, feels harsh stubble on his lips and moves his hand to the other side of Bucky’s face. He cups his jaw and then slowly gets closer, he kisses him on the lips and though they’re both a bit drunk, it’s much different than the last time. Bucky’s slow and shy, too afraid to even hold him, so Steve takes his hand to place it on his waist and only then does Bucky pull him closer, tight to his own body. 

They break apart after a moment and Bucky says, in a soft voice, “there are these art classes and I really want you to go.” Steve goes limp in his embrace, cheek pressed on his arm. “I’ll show you, they can teach you a lot-- I know what you say, but you can work anyway, I thought about it already.”

“I’ll go, alright,” Steve says, climbing to the top of his feet to kiss Bucky again. 

“It’s free,” he says, brushing Steve’s hair from his forehead. “I know you’re great at it, sweetheart.”

“You should do something, too.”

“I will, promise,” Bucky says, hands all over Steve now. He can’t resist it, he wants to take him all in, all for himself. “I may even write a book about you.”

“Somebody interested in biology? ‘Eighty times Steve Rogers almost dies’,” Steve laughs. “Can you call me sweetheart again?” he adds quickly, blushing instantly. 

“Yeah,” Bucky says, taken aback. “Yes, sure, whatever you like,” he says and then calls him that with a kiss on the head when he curls beside him on the bed, hoping immensely Steve won’t change mind in the morning.

It’s not ideal -- Steve wakes up in the morning and wiggles himself out of Bucky’s embrace in a panic and then acts all day extremely nervous around him, then comes by his doorstep the very next day with apologies and a quick kiss. He walks Bucky to his work and talks too much, too fast and about nothing in particular. 

“And I heard Penny’s pregnant and she’s only seventeen, that’s why she’s suddenly marrying that pal, Tim or something,” he says, gesturing wildly. “And he’s much older than her, I think he’s thirty… thirty something maybe. I just wonder what she told her parents? They must be proper mad. My ma would kill me.”

“Yeah, sure,” Bucky says, although, to be frank, he barely knows who the Penny girl is and he doesn’t care in the slightest about her baby and who she has it with. “Fortunately doesn’t seem like I’ll have that sorta problem in my life.”

“Well, you can never be so sure,” Steve says, blushing a bit. Bucky chuckles.

“Oh, I think I quite can.” Steve coughs and stops abruptly, then scratches the back of his head. “Anyway, thanks for walking with me, although you didn’t have to.”

“Yes, I just…”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Bucky says with a wide grin, then pats Steve’s arm firmly. “I’m not complaining, that was a nice way of starting out a day,” Steve blushes furiously now and Bucky’s almost sorry for him.” Just sayin’, next time you can just swing by any other part of the day… like you did this morning, ya know? I’ll be glad to see ya and know you didn’t have to wake up at the crack of the dawn.”

“I have a thing to tend to, anyway,” he says nonchalantly, although Bucky can tell by the way he averts his eyes that’s a blatant lie. “So I better get going.” 

Steve goes after saying stiff goodbyes, hands in the pockets of his too-large jacket that used to belong to Bucky two years ago. He can guess Steve’s going to visit Diane now, like he has been doing for some time (at very inconvenient hours, to her dismay; he doesn’t seem to realise she really isn’t happy to wake up at eight after working the night before). Bucky’s quite happy because of that. He hopes Steve’ll come around when he sees he’s not the only one. 

That’s what happened to Bucky, although, well, their cases are quite different. For once, Bucky needed about ten minutes with Diane’s crowd to accept his identity and slap the label “queer” on his soul, accepting it with a relief. With Steve, however, it seems to be a struggle and Bucky can’t help but wonder if he’ll ever be comfortable with calling himself that -- because he must be, that much is undeniable. Bucky’s seen it in his eyes, how he looked at men, how he looked at  _ him, _ he’s felt it in the way he kissed him, eager and impatient, as if scared of running out of time. 

But he can’t force him to live by the way he was made, and neither can Diane, even with her whole  _ Dianness _ ; he doesn’t even want to put it on her, it doesn’t seem fair. And he’s not sure if it’s even alright to put Steve through it, because it doesn’t feel like it is, lately. He thought he would be getting him out of his misery by giving him a way out, but lately, it feels like the only person he’s helping is himself. 

“It’s really unusual that you two met in school.” Emily takes a drag of her cigarette; she looks like one of the rich ladies when she lets out the smoke with so much dignity.  _ Femme fatale, _ Diane described her after she first met her; this was quite right, but luckily, Emily had all the looks with the voice high and sweet like a sparrow and a heart so tender, she would chat you about anything, ask about all that you were interested in and listen intently, her smile melting the ice. “I mean, it must mean something. We attract each other, don’t you think? And then, you and Jamie - childhood friends! Oh, that’s a love story if I’ve seen one.” 

Bucky grins, elbowing Steve, who’s sitting in the corner of the old sofa. “I guess, there must be a reason these two understood each other so well. If you heard what he was saying about her after they started talking, I thought fella’s in love!”

“Shut up, you jerk,” Steve mutters, earning a laugh from Emily. 

“Well, I can see why he was under a charm.” She puts a hand on Diane’s knee and looks at her softly for a brief moment. Diane puts an arm around her and pulls her closer. “I was attracted to her instantly, you know… I just felt that I might actually have a chance with this one.”

“Maybe I was just reading  _ Orlando _ in the park and was looking at you a bit too long, don’t you think?” Diane chuckles. She moves to the rhythm of  _ Dream a little dream of me _ the woman is singing, slightly drunk.

“Well, yeah, but don’t brag about your flirting abilities,  _ I _ came up to you,” she says, swinging her leg under the table. “But how did you two meet?”

“In the church,” Steve says. Bucky’s grin gets even wider when he sees Emily’s perplexed look. 

“What, you’re kidding?” Diane says, leaning towards them. “How come I didn’t know that before?” 

“We were six,” Bucky says, waving his head. “We lived in the same building, so we’d know each other anyway.”

“You’re still religious?” Emily stubs out her cigarette and takes a sip of the whisky. She’s been drinking all evening and doesn’t seem even a bit drunk, even though the rest of them is at least tipsy. 

“I am,” Steve answers. He pretends he doesn’t notice Bucky’s choking on his beer. “But, I don’t know, I think it’ll be alright. I mean, God didn’t just put me here like that without any reason, right?” He says that with a tone of uncertainty playing in his voice, but he takes Bucky’s hand and moves a bit closer to him. 

Steve tugs him by the sleeve to the toilet in his flat and pushes him to the wall. He kisses him violently and as if he wants to stop in every moment, just leave, so Bucky grabs him by the waist and sits on the edge of the bath, pulling Steve into his lap. He puts his hand on Steve’s soft cheek and smiles into his kiss. 

“Am I your first?” Steve has his arms around his neck and Bucky just can’t think straight, at first he doesn’t even get what Steve means.

“My first what?”  
“Your first boy,” he whispers into Bucky’s ear. He nods in answer, then starts to kiss Steve’s jaw. “But you said you know you won’t be with dame. How do you know.”

“I just do,” Bucky says and starts kissing Steve again, but then notices that he’s uneasy. He stops and puts his head in the crook of Steve’s neck, where he can feel his collarbones digging into his skin. “It’s alright if you don’t know yet. Or if you feel you could be with a lady and with a man, it’s all alright. You don’t even have to think about it if this makes you nervous.”

“I just want to know for sure,” he answers in a frail tone. “I don’t think I would want to, but I’d rather someone could just tell me.”

Bucky stays silent for a moment, but then he says: “So just be with me now and don’t worry about it.” He hugs Steve closer to his chest. “You could be my last, if it was up to me.”

There’s a moment of silence between them. They stay like that; Bucky’s head pressed to Steve’s chest, listening to his pulse, Steve propped on his legs. He brushes through Bucky’s hair, glad even his ma couldn’t make him cut them shorter.

“Let’s go to bed, Bucky, it’s late.” Steve wiggles out of Bucky’s embrace and gets up. He turns towards the door. “Well, it may not be up to me, too, but I think I’d like it if you were my last, too.”

One time Bucky catches Steve praying early in the morning. The sun’s barely risen and it’s terribly cold; he wraps himself in the cover and rolls on his side, head propped on an elbow. Steve is kneeling beside the window, head bowed; Bucky’s never noticed there are no crosses hanging on the walls. He barely hears Steve muttering something, but too quiet for Bucky to understand a word. 

He moves a bit and the bed creaks. Steve raises his head and opens his eyes. “Sorry,” Bucky whispers, just loud enough for Steve to hear. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.” 

“It’s okay.” Bucky hears somebody moving the pots in the kitchen and the sound of the kettle boiling. “Mum’s already up, anyway.” 

Sarah peers out of the kitchen into the living room, a cup of coffee in her hand. She’s already in scrubs and Bucky notices with worry dark circles under her eyes. 

“What’s that, Bucky, are you moving in with us?” Bucky blushes, even though he knows she’s joking. She never cared if he slept here, ate the meals with them, he always smuggled food or part of his pay into Sarah’s pockets to make up for his part. She was happy, even, to have him around; his ma, on the other hand, not so much. 

“I’d just rather sleep here than with all my sisters in the room,” he mumbles. Steve peers at him, but doesn’t say anything. “If that’s not a problem.”

“Well, you’re never a problem, sweetheart,” she says, tilting her head to the side. “I guess it’s good you’re keeping Steve company.” 

Bucky always wonders if she has any idea what’s between them and what she’d do if she knew. Sometimes he thinks Sarah just can’t omit that when she walks past them in the mornings when they’re sleeping curled up together, when Bucky unwisely puts his arm around Steve’s waist. She must have noticed -- the way he looks at Steve, there’s no way people can’t see how  _ hungry _ for him he is, and mothers… mothers just know, when they see. That’s why he’s scared to be with Steve around his mum; there’s no way friends look at each other that way, or brothers, even. That’s the kind of love you can see in lovers’ eyes. 

And maybe Winnifred knows because Bucky’s not been able to talk about Steve without getting completely star-eyed since he was fifteen. 

She comes up to him and leans through the backrest of the couch to kiss him on the forehead. He wants to apologise to her for doing this to her son, because he knows if it wasn’t for him, maybe Steve wouldn’t even notice he’s not  _ normal. _ Lately, it’s been all he can think about, suddenly having second thoughts about what right he has. 

“I don’t think I’m coming home tonight,” she says, standing in the doorway already. “Bucky, you’re sleeping over today, too?”

“Sure, I can.” She smiles; Bucky’s not sure if he’s imagining things, but she looks sad, let down with both of them. He looks at Steve and notices he’s grinning. 

“Okay then. I’ll try not to wake you up when I come late.”

Steve only waits a moment after he hears the key in the lock to walk up to Bucky and lay on top of him, legs on both his sides and hands around his head. He kisses him furiously, startling Bucky with that sudden confidence. 

“You were just praying, boy,” he says as he puts hands on Steve’s back and runs them on his spine, feeling his ribs poking out and the goosebumps on his skin. “Ain’t that a sin?”

“Why must all fun things be a sin.” Steve’s grinning wildly. He pulls away and looks at Bucky with watery eyes. “Didn’t you hear her? She doesn’t mind.”

“What? How’d you know?”

“She  _ loves _ you, Bucky!” Steve kisses his jaw and then laughs at himself. “Didn’t you hear? Mum  _ loves you, _ she knows you’ll care about me. I can see it in her eyes, the  _ don’t hurt my boy  _ look, I’m telling you. She’d cry happy tears at our wedding.”

“Whatever you say, pal,” Bucky laughs and kisses him on the cheek. “Hell, maybe the world will surprise us, she’ll be a hundred years old crying at our wedding when we’re eighty.”

“Yeah, yeah, I think so.” He rolls over, hand still resting on Bucky’s chest. “I mean, I was suspecting, but I didn’t know. I really think I do now, with all the stuff she was saying, she must have predicted it when we were goddamn ten.”

“Maybe we just sleep like a married couple, you don’t really do that with boys when you’re eighteen. My mom would be in a  _ panic, _ I’m telling you, had she seen.”Steve shakes his head with a smirk on his lips. “You’re gonna ask her bout that?”

“Hell no,” he laughs. “Or maybe. I don’t think so, but that doesn’t matter.”

“You don’t need words with Sarah Rogers, right? Well, pal, but I’m happy for you. If you feel better now.” Steve doesn’t answer, only kisses him wetly on the cheek and gets up to the kitchen. 

  
  


Bucky knocks on the door and comes in without waiting for a response. Sarah peers out of the bedroom, a book in her hand.  _ Portrait of Dorian Gray, _ he notices with a smirk. 

“Hi, Bucky,” she says, brushing her hair with fingers. “Didn’t expect you here, Steve’s out for work.”

“Oh, yes, I know, I just thought I’ll come by. Maybe wait for him.” He shifts nervously on his feet. “If you don’t mind, that is.”

“Sure, come in,” she says, smiling. Bucky closes the door behind him and puts his coat down. “Want some tea?”

The tea is bland and tastes like hot sugar, but he drinks it anyway. They look at each other, sipping their drinks in silent; Sarah doesn’t like small talk and she won’t try to pretend with Bucky. With her, it’s almost always real discussions, life and death, and fairness and love. Steve’s always had to fill out the awkward space when somebody chats you in the shop or a man comes to fix your barely working shower. He got really good at talking about all the insignificant things, questions about weather and mother’s health. 

“I always noticed you wear your wedding ring,” he says, pointing at her finger. She smiles fondly when he asks about it. “It’s been many years.”

“I’d never take it off.” She shows him the engraving on the inside -  _ 12.06.1916. _ “If I remarried, I’d just put the ring on the other hand.”

Bucky laughs. He leans on the wall and props his head on the knee. “You never thought about getting married again?”

“Oh, honey, I don’t think I’ll ever get over my dear Joseph.” Bucky loves how open she is; Sarah never cares about whether you should ask some questions, she always talks about everything she thinks. Things his mother would scold him for, Sarah just laughs about them and answers with disarming honesty. “And who do you think would want me, anyway? I’m hard to live with.”

“I don’t think so,” Bucky says, and he means it. Sarah’s the best woman he ever met, spare for his mother, maybe; she’s his second mom, after all. The men that she thinks would find it hard to live with her, they’re scared of women vocal about their opinions; he knows men like that, who like to silence girls whenever it’s convenient and the thing is, Sarah would rather die than be silenced. “Well, Steve’s dad didn’t mind.”

“He loved it!” she exclaims. “But then, he was also hard, maybe even worse than me. Grumpy and with terrible mood swings, eager to fight and yell. God, we would scream at each other, I think my neighborhood hated us regardless of their political views when they had to listen to us yelling about socialism and anarchism and war.”

“You’re a pacifist,” Bucky says, and she nods.

“Well, he wasn’t, but that didn’t matter anyway,” she says with a sigh. “Didn’t have much choice.”

Bucky stays silent for a moment, but can’t help asking. “You loved him, anyway? It must have been hard. I mean, he seems like a hard man to like.”

“He was angry all the time, but then he… just loved me. He could come to me with a split lip and bruises and try to kiss me before asking to help him out. He was so messy, I just never knew what to expect from him, like when I got pregnant and at first, he panicked, but then came to me apologizing and showering me with promises that he really wanted to keep.” She snaps out of her memories to look at him. “Yes, he was difficult and that’s why many people didn’t like him, but he was worth it. But you know something about that, huh?” 

Bucky falls silent, worried that he’ll start crying if he opens his mouth, but Sarah stands up to kneel beside him and hugs him close to her chest. She smells the washing powder she surely uses on Steve’s clothes, too, and tears up anyway. Sarah rubs circles on his back. “You’ll both be alright, sweetheart, trust me.”

“I don’t know.” He sobs and messes up her yellow shirt. 

“Listen to mum’s words.”

“Maybe we’ll move to Paris.”

“And leave poor old ma here?” Bucky laughs into her shoulder. “No, really, Bucky, I can see bright future, just take care of Steve. He likes to do stupid things.”

“Oh, do I know.” Sarah pulls away and wipes Bucky’s tears; he starts laughing. It feels surreal, having her here, loving him regardless when he really doubts his own ma could. “None of my school friends liked him after he punched Jerry in the nose after the fella said he won’t fight a kid.”

“Yes, don’t let him do that.” She smiles, showing off her pretty teeth; she could be an actress if she wanted, Bucky reckons. She’d be able to make just enough scandals. “And don’t cry no more. I can’t stand seeing you miserable.” 

Sarah dies barely three months later for pneumonia, the same disease Steve managed to survive twice took her the first chance she got. It’s November and it snows on her funeral. 

Steve prays and then screams loud with window wide open and cold air getting inside, “Why not me?”. Bucky has to pull him inside and tuck in bed, kiss him on his cold lips and hold him to the chest when he trembles. They move out the next month, after Bucky catches Steve sitting on the doorstep crying, unwilling to go inside, worried about his mum’s ghost watching him inside the apartment with disappointment. 

Bucky finds them one room with a kitchen and bathroom on the corridor, where it’s warm inside and in the building next to the one with the bar Diane works at. He tells Steve about what Sarah told him only after it’s been four months since her death, worried how Steve might react; with every day talking about her getting more difficult, remorseful about keeping it from him. Steve’s not mad; if anything, he takes it in extremely calmly and never mentions it again. But he starts to smile again, crack terrible jokes to Diane and Emily, spends evenings at bars. He takes Bucky to the dancefloor and kisses him in the empty alleyways when he’s almost sure nobody can see; he talks loudly and once comes home with a bruised lip, saying he thought for dame’s honor. 

Steve draws pin-up girls for men in the bars and nudes for some in their bars, with queer folks, that he started to like more. Finally, he has a stack of drawings of Bucky; him sleeping, eating, repairing broken cabinets in the kitchen. He shows all the nasty drawings he made for money to Bucky and when he sees him blushing, he pulls him into their joined bed and takes clothes off him, then whispers they’re going to  _ make love  _ now. He draws him from memory afterward, astonishingly accurate. 

Bucky doesn’t know what to make off of it, with this Steve. It’s wonderful, as if someone took chains off of his boy; now he’s floating in the air and it’s Bucky who gets to keep him closer to the ground.


End file.
